


Early Morning

by AnaGP



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Arthur is morose, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Francis loves him, Love, M/M, Softness, morning fluff, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 09:03:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14493507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaGP/pseuds/AnaGP
Summary: Arthur's mornings are not as lonely as they seem.





	Early Morning

Arthur wakes up to an empty bed. It hurts, every single time this happens. Not that he tells anyone. Not that they would care. Still, though, it _hurts_. He's been through hell and you would think the centuries that have passed have made things easier for him. Well, they haven’t. Some days he still wakes up coughing with the dirt from ~~years~~ decades ago lodged in his throat, he wakes up thinking of naval strategies and he expects to see his old cabin in his boat, from when he’d been young and arrogant. Not that he’s less arrogant now. Well, he tries, anyway, and that’s what matters. _~~Is it?~~_

 _Still._ What was…? Oh, yes, the empty bed. Arthur touches the mattress, it’s still warm, which means the other occupant must have left not long ago. _Ah,_ Arthur thinks, _it’s not a dream at all._ Well, no, but it _could_ be. Things can always become what they aren’t if his years on planet Earth have taught him something it is that things can and will always happen. Unpredictable it is, all of this. If he’d been young and stupid- admittedly, he _may_ still be a little bonkers if not young and stupid- he would close his eyes and go back to sleep in a fruitless effort at making this moment of peace last. They don’t, by the way. Peaceful moments are as rare as a mouse wearing a bowtie who can play the clarinet in a marching band.

“Arthur?” Francis speaks with the same soft, lilting voice he always uses on him when Arthur looks about ready to break in half at the drop of a pin. “Why are you shaking?”

He is? Arthur hadn’t noticed that, but there are many, many, _many_ things he doesn’t notice. He hadn’t known, in truth, that his idle thoughts would cause such an uproar of emotions to come to life inside of him. He reaches for Francis and the man gives him a soft smile, climbs into bed beside him and pulls him closer so Arthur is lying half on top of him. They stay like that, for a long time. Long enough that his own stomach starts to make sounds of protest at not being fed but Arthur ignores it, he looks up at Francis, kisses the scar on his neck that the guillotine had left behind all those years and years and _decades_ ago.

“Well,” Francis says, running his fingers through Arthur’s wild hair. “This is new.”

Arthur says nothing, finds he doesn’t need to. He closes his eyes again, a small smile on his lips. Not a dream.

 

 


End file.
